


Calculations

by Zoya1416



Category: Discworld
Genre: sword made of iron from the blood of 1000 men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vetinari was rumored to carry a sword made from the blood of 1000 men</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calculations

"Dad," said Young Sam Vimes, now called Sammie by everyone except his father. "Kin I aks you a question?"

"It's 'can.' and 'ask.' You've been hanging around with the boot boy again, haven't you? 'S alright, just don't talk like him."

Vimes had imagined that as Young Sam grew older he wouldn't need his six o' clock book reading as much. But that time was still sacred to them, and now besides reading a book they talked about all kinds of things. Sam hadn't needed Carrot to stop traffic on two major roads for him in a long time. He had somehow learned to delegate so that he could leave the watch house in time, every day. Sometimes he only learned what was going on by the LACK of questions Young Sam asked, when he'd clearly brought home marked down papers from the Guild school.

He and Sybil were paying an absolute fortune to the despised Assassins' Guild school to make sure their mite was educated like a proper gentleman. He'd fought Sybil about this, but she refused to give in.

“You know Havelock put down his name for a place on the day he was born. It would be an insult to refuse the honor.”

At least they'd had Sam at home for eight years. The Guild took students at nine, and they stayed until sixteen, 18 if they Took Black. Sam would see himself cut into ribbons before he'd agree with the Black syllabus, the two years in which young people were taught to kill other people. In elegant and sophisticated ways, of course, always leaving their calling card so that the murdered one's family would know who was responsible.

So here they were teaching their child to be posh, and he roamed around with the boot boy whenever he could. Boot boys would have scorned the Sam from Cockbill Street. As much as Sam hated to admit it, Young Sam was born to the aristocracy and would have to socialize with them all his life. 'Kin' and 'aks' were right out. Although sometimes he suspected Young Sam of winding him up.

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Vetinari has a special sword, right? I heard that it's made from the iron of the blood of a thousand men. Does he? Cuz that would be brilliant.”

Vimes had long suspected that to be a rumor, but wasn't sure how to disprove it. He was reminded a bit of the time when the Patrician was suspected of trying to steal “$70,000 dollars in gold” The de Worde boy had worked out that lie—that much gold weighed a third of a ton. So how much would iron weigh?

“Let's see if we can add that up a bit. I know that one man has a quarter of an ounce of iron in his blood.”

He'd had to learn that one from his old dame school. Most of the learning there was rote memorizing, but occasionally the woman would slip in interesting facts like this. He'd asked Dr. Lawn about it once, and the old pox doctor smiled slyly. 

“Well, she was rounding off a bit, see? A very large man with lots of muscle might have that much. That's what the old sages said. But the sages said that was the iron in the whole body, not just the blood. I'm not sure how you'd get the iron out—be a lot of butchering there.” Vimes had winced, but remembered the conversation.

“So, then, if four men make an ounce of iron, and there's sixteen ounces to a pound, that's...” He let Young Sam do the addition. 

“Sixty-four men for a pound of iron. So how much does a sword weigh? Billy—that's Billy de Worde, not Billy the boot boy, said that a sword weighed thirty pounds. Is that right?”

For answer Sam went to the umbrella stand where his sheathed sword was kept. Young Sam was strictly told off from touching it, and if he'd broken the rule he would find out a couple of things Sam kept hidden. The sword actually clicked into a specially fashioned slot. If Sam did not push the right buttons to draw it, a loud whistle would sound. He hefted the sword and gave it to Young Sam.

“What do you think?”

“I dunno. But it doesn't weigh nearly as much as the swamp dragons do.”

“Exactly right. The baby dragonets are about three pounds, but the big ones are thirty. Would you like to fight a battle with a thirty pound dragon?”

Young Sam started giggling. “No! So your sword is—about the same weight as a dragonet, then.”

“Yes, and Carrot's heavy sword weighs about five pounds. That's the biggest one we've ever had in the watch.”

“Um, then—five pounds would be five times 64”... scratch paper was hunted up and found in the cook's grocery list, and then there was marking down, mumbling, and counting on of fingers before Young Sam said, “Three hundred twenty! Three hundred twenty men for a big heavy sword!” 

Sam said, “Can you do the back equation? If you had a thousand men, how many pounds of iron would you have?”

This took longer, but finally the boy said in triumph, “Fifteen pounds! And nobody could use a sword that big!”

“Maybe he could use the leftovers to build a plow?”

“Or a lot of little swords. I wish he did have the blood so we could have the swords at the Guild! We start fighting lesson our third year, but it's only light wood. I've seen them. But real swords...”

Young Sam sighed in a haze of boyish fantasy. Sam decided to leave it alone for today. Time enough for him to learn that swords weren't for fighting little contests with rules. Battle swords—you stuck it in your enemy's stomach, then twisted and pulled out, guts coming with it. Then the enemy was dead, and you went on to the next. Thank the stars he hadn't had to use the sword much in thirty—odd years.

Moist von Lipwig had once told him of his conversation with Vetinari when the Patrician had demanded, “do I look like the kind of man who would have a sword from the blood of 1000 men?”

He'd never thought the rumor was true, but he was delighted to find that dull old mathematics was good for squelching this. And he'd been able to teach Young Sam something the fancy school hadn't. It had been a good evening. He went downstairs to in the Faintly Green parlor. Sybil was still knitting, but not socks since their row when she found out he'd been hiding the painful lumpy ridges. Now she knitted scarves, and caps for them, and all her friends, and all the servants—he loved her for it.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

He smiled. “Best in a long time. I finally proved the rumor about Vetinari was wrong." He went through all the mathematics again.

She smiled and then frowned a little. “I'm glad you and Young Sam enjoyed yourselves. But I knew it wasn't true. Havelock told me when he started the rumor himself—he'd told one of the Guild servants about his hereditary sword, and it went from there. It's always tickled him when he overhears people whispering about it.

Sam Vimes would never get used to his wife calling the Patrician by his first name, and now he had to accept that she knew when the ascetic, arrogant man was tickled, too.

“Mmm. Good for him. Do we have any fresh coffee?” He started to settle into his easy chair.

“I'll call for it. Unless you want to skip coffee and...?” She smiled warmly at him.

He didn't have to be asked twice, and they hurried up the stairs to the large bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not all that easy to find out how much iron is in the body. It seems to be about 4-5 grams. I rounded up and went with a quarter ounce (7.5 g) because it's easier to deal with. That's the total iron in the body though, and not just in the blood, and how you would ever render it to get the iron out...anyway, I've always wondered about it.
> 
> A good sword doesn't weight as much as you'd think. Three pound weights (1.4 kg) were used most commonly. A two-handed great sword weighed anywhere from 5-8 pounds (2.3-3.6 kg) Larger swords, 10-15 pounds (4.5-6.8 kg) or so were ceremonial or parade swords, never meant to be used.
> 
> Points are deducted for laughing about Carrot's big sword.


End file.
